Infinitesimal
by justteaforme
Summary: A story about losing, learning and belonging (and sometimes not); or, how Skyfire learned to stop running and let himself love.
1. Loss

Creating a sparkling is not an easy process.

There is, however –and this must be clarified from the first point– a vast difference between Creating and creating.

Being a Creator implies literally giving away pieces of both yourself and that whom you love the most, as, with the minor exception of split-Sparkers, only bondmates are able to kindle through spark-merging. The process can be uncomfortable for the Carrier and distressing for the Creator, as well as being dangerous for both; should the newspark attempt to merge back into its matrix, the Carrier would surely perish, a fate the remaining bondmate would be unlikely to survive.

Because of these and several other reasons, most mecha find it easier to become genitors through other methods.

Common creation, also known by many as Sparking, is the most popular way, if a little more costly. It is a simple matter of acquiring the base alloy for the protoform, arranging a Sparking date with the High Priests, transporting it to whatever city holds the AllSpark during that period and then bringing it to the temple to be given life.

Nevertheless, there is one reason mecha still choose to Create rather than Spark their offspring, and that is the fact that while Creating is more potentially risky, the resulting sparkling will more likely share the features and characteristics of the genitors. Creators coming from a line of groundframes are highly unlikely to produce a structure frame together, just as a Seeker trine is not expected to be able to Create grounded sparklings. Sparking, on the other side, is completely the opposite. Mecha who choose to seek the AllSpark's aid to create can never be certain of what their child will turn out to. And while it is true, in most cases that the sparkling will share some similitude with at least one of the creators, sometimes –.000000000000813% of the totality of Sparking– the expectant mecha will find themselves faced with an incompatible sparkling, at least where frametype is concerned.

Most mecha can learn to deal with the differences, learn to appreciate their creations for the miracle they are, be they groundframes to a Seeker pair or an Aerial to structures. Some sparklings, however, are not as fortunate, and will be either abandoned by their creators on a Youth Centre, or worse.

This, unfortunately, was one of those cases.

The sparkling was small, true, but still far larger than he ought to have been. Haste stared at the sleeping child, disturbed by the sight of the newspark-grey wings and inactive thrusters. They would not be able to function for at least 36 orns, rendering the sparkling effectively ground-bound until mechlinghood, but they were still there, undeniable and as permanent as Haste's own drillers.

To his right side, Impasse was talking to the Altihexian High Priestess, gesturing angrily as the femme stared blankly back at him.

"How can you expect us to keep a flier?!", Impasse demanded. "My bonded and I are grounders, and that sparkling is almost as big as a first-phase mechling–"

"A medium–size terrestrial transport frame mechling, perhaps", the High Priestess replied. "The newspark's frame is as big as it ought to be."

"That's a frag–" At Haste's alarm through the bond and the Priestess' sharp glare, the mech stalled, reminding he was still standing inside one of Primus' temples. "That's not a child, that's a piece of mass transport in need of an upgrade, and I will not take him into my home", Impasse growled.

The Priestess' optics blazed for a klik, enraged, her graceful silver wings flaring over her back like a looming mantle of dark, vengeful promise, and Haste stepped in before anything irreparable was said.

"Please", he interjected regretfully, looking into the cold, furious optics of the High Priestess. "My bondmate is not– he doesn't mean to offend, but we have not the least idea how to raise a sparkling like that." Behind him, Impasse fumed, a dark blur of distaste and anger seeping through the bond, but he thankfully remained silent.

The Priestess settled a hard glare on him, and Haste resisted the urge to shrink back from that all-too-knowing stare that took him in with a clinical sort of judgement.

After a moment, the femme spoke.

"You will leave this temple", she said, undeterred and unforgiving as the cold acid storms of Cybertron's larger moon. "And you will not return until both your sparks have changed and left those despicable prejudices behind. Until then, no child shall be put under your guard, least of all the one you have just pleaded be brought into the world."

Haste felt a chill curl over his spark at the words, but even through their shared regret, Impasse would not regret his behaviour.

'_Maybe we are wrong_', Haste thought, desperate, anguished, but Impasse sealed their fate, only a twinge of recrimination pushed at Haste's spark warning him before his bondmate spoke.

"So be it", Impasse replied, turning sharply on his heel and storming down the steps of the Chamber of the Sparked.

Haste turned to the Priestess with an anxious look, torn between following his bondmate and pleading for another chance, to be allowed to try and care for the child they had so thoughtlessly rejected. The Priestess' optics shifted as they glanced down at him, hardness simmering down into something regretful, understanding, but still unyielding.

"Go", the femme said, softer, like a guardian would talk to an unruly sparkling tired after a tantrum. "Go find your bondmate. Maybe with time, he will also be able to see the error of his ways."

"What of the sparkling?", Haste asked, vocalizer cracking the words, breaking them into static and regret.

The Priestess glanced to the still-recharging frame lying down on the temporary nest of the altar.

"He will be looked after", she promised –to him, or the sparkling, Haste couldn't figure out. "It may take some time, but he will find love, one way or another."


	2. Bond

Jetfire held back the urge to sigh as he listened to Anima going on interminably with her speech. He adored his Prime, would gladly give up limb and spark to protect her, but sometimes he wished the culturally-inclined femme would avoid using at least seventeen different glyphs for every single thing she mentioned in her discourses to the adoring masses of Cybertron –or at least that she'd pre-record them so they didn't all need to stand listening to them a dozen times before the first draft was even completed.

A brush of amusement from Jetstorm had him shooting his twin a sheepish flash of a smile, to which Jetstorm replied with an imperceptible shake of his helm, entertained by the narrative of feeling he could sense from Jetfire's side of their shared link, before he turned his optics to Anima once again. Jetfire resigned himself to the situation, inwardly glad that this speech, at least, would only last another seventeen breems or so.

Primes were meant to be mecha of the world, wise and knowledgeable and clever, as well as being skilled in politics, economy, diplomatic relations and social sciences.

Anima Prime was all that and more, but the fact that she had been one of the cheekiest, most rebellious, free-spirited femmes in the history of the Altihex Academy of Arts before her destiny as a bearer of a Matrix had come out to the light had only been somewhat dampened by the sense of responsibility that, quite literally, only Primus had been able to beat into her.

Upon being assigned as her personal bodyguards, the Seeker twins had expected, rather unimaginatively, either a somewhat smaller, female version of their last assignment, Custos Prime –a quiet, thoughtful mech who had, if not been their friend, at least gotten as close to it as possible– or some sort of reincarnation of the legendary Solus Prime, if only a little younger.

Instead, they'd gotten a hot-headed femme who was still floored at the realisation that she was meant to be one of the conduits of Primus and trying to adjust to leaving her life as a carefree music student behind, and liked to bicker, prank and manhandle them as much as any younger sister probably would have.

Thankfully, after the passing of Tricon Prime there had still been another twelve Matrix-bearers to hold the front, so to speak, giving Anima the opportunity to gradually accept her destiny and take on her duties and responsibilities at a somewhat sedate pace, so while the youngest of the current Primes was already in possession of her Matrix, she had yet another few vorns –during which she would hopefully find her High Lord Protector– before fully taking up her duty as one of the rulers of Cybertron. Both Jetfire and Jetstorm had come to care deeply for her –how could they not, when it was so easy to simply let yourself be dragged away by the hurricane of cheerful chaos that was Anima?–, had made a point of always being there for her in any manner, professional or not, that was needed, and with time their energetic Prime had... Well, not mellowed out, exactly, but she had slowly learnt to hold herself in check, to keep that deep well of emotion that lighted her from the inside like a second spark and ran through her lines like something brighter, more intangible than energon. She had flourished under their care and grown into herself, and Jetfire liked to think they were as essential to her as she was for them.

Of course, emotional bond or not, neither twin could deny the fact that Anima was still as crazy as a petro-rabbit on Towers high-grade, a fact that would probably remain so no matter how many megavorns she existed.

"Cybertron below, now wasn't _that_ a rush?", the femme exclaimed cheerfully, slinging one arm across two identical sets of massive shoulders. Jetstorm endured it with his usual good-humoured resignation –he had long given up on trying to free himself from his Prime's effusive and continuous assaults to his person–, while Jetfire groaned in despair at his superior's definition of 'rush', getting playfully hip-checked by large femme in retaliation. "And _now_ we get to the good part."

"Which is?", Jetfire inquired dryly, a perfect counterpoint to Anima's gleeful lilt.

"Now we get to see the sparklings!", she declared with a grin, practically twirling out of the side-hug she'd started. However, it was her words that startled Jetfire.

"Wait, what? Sparklings?" He looked between his twin and his Prime. "I thought we'd be returning to the capitol after Madame Lyricality here finished her speech", he said with a frown, ignoring the mock-indignant expression on Anima's face at the jab.

"Yes, well", Jetstorm smiled at the familiar banter, "Prime thought it would be nice to see the little ones. After all, that whole debacle about increasing the income for Youth Centres _was_ rather trying–"

"Don't remind me." Jetfire faked a shudder to Anima's snickering. "And we weren't even participating in the debates."

Jetstorm nodded, a wing flicking in amusement. "Exactly. So we may as well enjoy the results of all that hard work, don't you think?"

The black seeker canted his helm, shifting his weight to his left hip. He had wanted to get home as soon as possible, maybe stretch his wings for a while, but Anima _had_ been working hard as of late, and he simply could not say 'no' to those excited, hopeful pale blue optics.

"Ah, scrap it", he sighed, smiling and throwing his arm around Prime once again, relishing her gleeful trill and the bright flare of joy that flowed into his field from the femme. "C'mon, we may as well take advantage of it to get them to cling all over Sentinel's uptight aft."

"No you won't, I will not allow you to harass my second in front of a bunch of sparklings, you cheek", Anima chided, but she was laughing, clear as a crystal in the Praxus Gardens.


	3. Excited

If there was one thing Anima missed from her short life as Sparksong, it would be the ability to meet and talk to new people without having them hold back from being themselves when faced with her status of Prime.

Sure, there were a few mecha who hadn't cared, or at least knew how to compartmentalise enough to interact with here regardless of her position –Ironhide, Chief of Military Training at Iacon Academy and primary Weapons Specialist to the city's Primes for many megavorns, was one of the best examples; Inferno, a fresh-faced member of the Rescue Bot forces she had met by accident, was another, as were his friends Firestar and Heatwave–, but the exceptions were few and far between. It was one of the reasons she clung so steadily to the twins' company, and why she appreciated them so much; not only had they looked after her from day one, both on- and off-duty, but they'd actively sought her out and made sure she never felt lonely, or in need of a friend. They were really like the brothers she had never had, and even if she never found her Lord Protector, she would be quite happy to simply stay forever in the care and company of her best friends.

Well, she corrected herself somewhat sourly, that was _if_ they managed to escape the saccharine tirades of the Sigma Three Youth Centre's director with their processors free of rust; she loved a good speech or lecture as much as your next bot, but was it really necessary for the mech to babble on and on about how _wonderful_ was to have them visiting their humble institution?

"–and this hallway here to your left goes to the main park, though of course you wouldn't wish to be bothered by the little ones, they _can_ get rather enthusiastic–", the mech ranted with the same plastic smile that seemed to have been slapped onto his face and hadn't faded for a klik in the last fifteen breems. It was starting to look a little creepy and a lot annoying.

"Actually", Jetstorm cut in smoothly, his tall Seeker frame probably rather overwhelming in the optics of the director, who was a few heads shorter than Anima and probably a low-altitude jet of some sort. Quickbeat –for that was the director's designation– shut up with an abrupt crackle of static that sounded vaguely like 'meep', but Jetstorm wasn't the kind of mech to call others on things like those, so he drove on as if he hadn't hear it. "Prime was hoping to be able to interact with the sparklings for a while, as long as they aren't busy with their lessons."

Quickbeat blinked, his light green and mauve wings flapping nervously for a moment. "I– Yes, of course, only–"

"We will be quiet, don't worry", Jetfire interrupted, shooting the fretting mech a grin that was really not as reassuring as the Seeker would have thought, and Anima held back the urge to burst out laughing. "We got the schematics of the place with the guards, so you can go back to your work. We'll let you know when we're over", he assured the smaller mech, patting his shoulder amicably.

"Well–" Quickbeat shot Anima such a confused, overwhelmed look that she could only shake her helm for a moment, lest she started cackling before she managed to get herself in check. When she was sure her vocalizer wouldn't fritz with held-back maniacal laughter, she smiled in Quickbeat's direction in what she hoped was not too relieved a way.

"It's quite alright, Quickbeat, Jetfire and Jetstorm can take me from here, and I would much rather it was a more discreet affair than it would turn out to be were the little ones to see you there with me."

"I... Well, if that's what you wish, my Prime, then by all means. Do contact me if you need anything at all", Quickbeat finally said, bowing his helm and canting his wings to Anima, and after a quick nod to her bodyguards, he walked with quick strides down the hallway and back to his office.

As soon as he disappeared around a corner, Jetfire exploded in laughter.

"Scrap, was that expression etched onto his faceplates or did he simply come out of the line like that?", he wheezed, pulling Anima near to support himself, and instantly relaxing her enough to laugh a bit, as well.

"I think it may have been the latter", she agreed, her wings fluttering in mirth, then shivering delicately as she sighed. "Primus, I thought he would never let us be. And where on Cybertron did he get it into his processors that I would come to a Youth Centre and _not_ want to see the sparklings?", she exclaimed indignantly.

Jetstorm flicked a wing in a shrug, giving her that half-smile of his that always managed to lift her mood. "Does it matter? We can come and go for a good while now, and you can play target-lock-tag with as many hyperactive fledgelings as you can entice with your childish wiles."

"Ooh, low blow", Jetfire whistled, laughing again as Anima pulled one of his wings in retaliation.

"Shush it, you, and take me to the little ones before I decide to call Quickbeat again", she threatened, smirking at the fake look of horror that passed over Jetfire's face.

"As you wish, oh Evil Overlord of mine", he shuddered exaggeratedly, bowing so low his helm almost levelled with her knees.

And then, "Bet I can beat you both to the park", Jetstorm taunted, optics full of mirth, before taking off like a racer model down the corridor.

"Hey!" and "Cheating!" were Jetfire and Anima's simultaneous cries, shooting after Jetstorm's trail with laughing promises of payback as soon as they got him.

Jetstorm didn't win, in the end– none of them did, as just as they arrived to the doors leading outside, a small group of sparklings of varied sizes and ages intercepted them –or rather, were intercepted by them.

"Um, sir, what are you doing?", asked one of the older ones, a racer class youngling with grey plating and blue details that couldn't have been more than 24 orns old.

Jetstorm stopped immediately in a quick, graceful move that should have been impossible for someone his size, but those were Seekers for you. Jetfire and Anima were fast behind him, but came to a slower stop as Jetstorm sat back on his haunches to get a closer look to the sparklings.

"I was racing my friends to the park. A little inappropriate, I know, but it helps remind them I'm cooler than they are", he stage-whispered, causing a chorus of giggles to break out between the smaller fliers. Jetstorm smiled, his profile highlighted by the light that gleamed in from the wide windows embedded on the doors. "What's your designation, little one?"

"My name's Silverlight", the youngling declared proudly, wings splaying a few degrees. "I'm the eldest of my cadre."

"Oh, you have siblings, then? So do I", he said, discretely gesturing to Anima and Jetfire to approach with a subtle move of his wings. Jetfire allowed her to slip in first, and she flashed him a grateful smile before leaning down and turning it on the group.

"Hello, how do you do?", she greeted amicably, to which the sparklings returned a wave of 'fine, thank you's, peering curiously up at her.

"Sir, why are you and the other sir so similar while madam looks different?", piped a delicate-looking sparkling with sharp golden wings.

"Are you trinemates?", asked the smallest of them excitedly, red optics flickering from one to another.

"Dear me, not at all", Anima laughed gently, catching a glimpse of Jetfire's amused curl of the lips in her periphery. "They're my older brothers."

Jetfire nodded. "Jetstorm here and I are twins, but Sparksong was sparked many vorns after our creation."

Considering they were at least six times as old as she was, it wasn't exactly a lie.

"I'm the youngest too", the smaller sparkling –barely more than a newspark, really, all pedes and wings and uncontrollable energy– said to her cheerfully. "Silverlight's the oldest, then Bluestorm, Goldstar, and me."

"His name's Redline", explained helpfully the more quiet one of the lot, a youngling with a switched version of Silverlight's colours –Bluestorm, probably. "Goldstar is the pretty one over there", he added with a teasing smile.

"Am not, hush", Goldstar squeaked, hiding his face behind Silverlight's shoulder. The older sparkling only giggled, patting his helm sympathetically.

"Do you wanna play?", Redline asked, looking up at them with wide, hopeful eyes.

::Oh, that may be the pretty one, but this one's a charmer alright::, Jetfire whispered through their private link, and Anima briefly brushed amusement into his field in reply.

"We would love to", she told the fledgelings, smiling down at them sweetly. The little ones trilled, excited, and all but dragged the three of them the rest of the way down to the park, already discussing whether they'd play target-lock-tag or hide-and-seek first, which of the grown-ups would be the best option to chase, and how flying was not allowed 'cause even Silverlight was still too little to do it yet, so no cheating, okay?


End file.
